


Second-in-Command

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran has his orders. But Jim always did like him to improvise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second-in-Command

He wanted Seb to hear. To know.

_I’m afraid Sherlock and I are off to Dreamland, Sebby. Don’t wait up._

Bastard. Jim had known he wasn’t coming back. But, despite all that crap of his about The Final Problem ( _Just call it what it is_ ) ( _But Sebby dear, then it’s not a_ problem, _it’s an answer_ ), the one he’d figured only Sherlock deserved to solve – _I can’t let you, Seb, that’d be too_ easy, _no fun, no thrill at all; I want to go with a_ smile – he’d let Seb in on the last moments of his life.

Seb has killed a lot of people. He knows there’s nothing more intimate than last words, the last breath. Jim made sure he heard them.

He gave him something else too, of course: the key. The key to John Watson. _It’s the key to Sherlock’s heart, Sebby._

Because the twenty-five – oh, moved back and someone new to his left – twenty-two ways wouldn’t be good enough. Not like the weapon Jim presented him with for the job.

Seb’s never killed with _words_ before. Or anything more subtle than a knife, come to think of it – poisons and computers were all Jim; he’ll have to look into that. But this is fucking brilliant. Of course it is: Jim thought of it.

Because Seb has the recording: the last conversation of Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty. He has the sound of Sherlock _breaking_. He has the proof that Sherlock killed himself for John, nothing else. Well, John and some nobodies, but John’s the one Sherlock called; John’s the one Seb was personally assigned to cover.

(John’s the one who makes Seb’s blood boil, because they are _not_ the same person. John fancies himself some sort of bloody noble _guardian_ , not a killer. Nothing fucking noble to it. Deluded prick. What’s the point of being a great shot if you never use it?)

More to the point, John’s the one Seb’s under orders to play this to. Nobody else. Let him listen and then let it _eat_ at him. _Give him a week,_ Jim told him, _and then go back. Let it fester_ – he’d twisted the knife in a man’s leg at that, that’s how Seb’s remembers those exact words – _and Dear Old Johnny Boy’ll_ beg _for death._

(Jim knew Seb hated it when he used that _dear_ for both of them. Not jealous, no, because he knew Jim well enough to know that there wasn’t any affection in it. Just didn’t like the comparison. Bloody red rag to a man like Jim.)

All that’s great, but there’s more now. Something else to consider; another factor. Something that makes it better in so many ways.

Seb knows something else too.

Sure, he could play the recording. It’d even work. Seb’s got his own gift for observation, one even Jim appreciated, because nobody senses weakness like him – comes from the hunt, stays even when hunting men – so he can tell John Watson is already fraying at the edges. Bloody pathetic. Should shoot him now – put him out of his misery – except that’s not the _game_ , as Jim would put it. Unlike John, Seb intends to _honour_ the fallen.

No honour amongst thieves, fine, but Seb and Jim are – were – so much more than that. Jim Moriarty deserves to be remembered; to be obeyed even in death, because he was the only man Sebastian Moran has ever taken orders from.

He’s been Jim’s man long enough to understand that knowledge can be the most powerful thing of all. Well, knowledge and control – he’s seen enough of both. Enough to know that Jim’s way works.

Seb’s the best in the business now. At least, he should be. Which is how, while he’s been tailing John, through the corridors and parks and hotels and the graveyard and pub after pub – trying to drown your sorrows is _pitiful_ , how’d anybody ever think they were alike – he’s noticed he hasn’t been alone.

Jim’s dead, no question about that – Seb took care of the body, like a good right-hand man should – which is why it’s no longer enough to make John beg for death. Good, granted, but now there’s more at stake. It’s not about orders; it’s about _revenge._

He’s not sure how he’s going to do it. Not yet. Planning’s not his forte, it was Jim’s. Seb is supposed to be the gun; somebody to order and bounce ideas off, because Jim and Sherlock both like an audience.

_You’re me._

The drink – whatever bloody swill they sell here – turns bitter, and not the way he likes. Seb swallows it down anyway. Maybe they started off the same, but it’s the little things that count. And the big thing: Jim beat him. Jim _won_. That’s why this is so important.

Sherlock broke. He fell. But he didn’t _hit_. Not the way he should have. Jim’s still waiting for the company.

Seb was always going to kill John, regardless of whatever Sherlock did. What mattered was whether it was fast or slow. Maybe Jim always knew Sherlock would wriggle out of it, the way he did. If so, still plenty of breaking to go.

Maybe he’ll drip-feed the information. Maybe tell John right in front of the lying gravestone. Maybe he’ll wait a year and come back, long enough for the wound to be larger than anything that can be fixed. Right now John really believes Sherlock is still alive – no way that _won’t_ backfire when he finds out he’s right. Especially with Seb right there to make sure how he finds out. To make sure John is thinking exactly the way he wants him to at that moment. For once, be like Jim, and – what’s the word – _orchestrate_ this one. Least he can do.

Maybe Seb will wait until _just_ the moment when John gives up. Because he will. He will break, he will _shatter_ , and Sherlock will have done it.

Hope’s the most evil thing there is. Jim’s area, not Seb’s – while he does get a kick out of letting the prey think it’s escaped, he doesn’t force it; they do it themselves. Nothing turns as rancid as hope, and John’s full of it. How long’s it take before the image of Sherlock is nothing but a swandive full of doubt? How long before John won’t need the recording for the memories to start eating him? (And Jim thought John was _stronger_ than that, must have done, what a bloody joke, Seb can already see what Sherlock did to him – so much better than what Jim had ‘hoped’, so that’s something.) When it happens – and it will, because Seb’ll make sure of it – it’s going to be _foul_. John’ll be something to fear _then_ , alright. Only thing that’ll matter is what direction he’s pointed in.

( _Breadcrumbs, my dear Sebastian. Never underestimate breadcrumbs. People believe whatever you make them believe – so long as they think they did it themselves._ )

Maybe Seb’ll twist and turn and _teach_ until John really is like him – enough to get the job done.

John being the one to make the kill; to shoot Sherlock. That’d be something. _Fuck_ yes, now that would be something. Worth a fag, that one, and Seb promises himself he’ll light up the moment he’s out of here. (He misses the Middle East. And India. South America. _Anywhere else_ that isn’t too deluded to claim it’s better than him. Sebastian Moran _is_ the best.)

Sherlock’s not going to hang around forever. Busy man’s got things to do, and this wouldn’t be the first time he’ll have left his most vulnerable asset unguarded. (Jim would never let Seb do it though. _It’s got to be_ perfect. _We’re not going for_ quick, _we’re going for the_ burn. _No pain, no gain_.)

(Seb respected Jim, would have followed him anywhere, would have kneeled on the ground and let him cut his throat, but he never got used to him laughing.)

Be patient. Let the tiger abandon her cubs if she wants to. Stay upwind.

Seb looks again, and while there are now bloody _thirty-two_ options (he’ll have to train that out of him, matter of principle more than anything else), it doesn’t matter.

He’s going to kill John Watson one way. One very specific way. The way Jim Moriarty would have wanted.

From the inside.


End file.
